


The Good Son

by Heiwako



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, General fiction, Incest, Literature, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heiwako/pseuds/Heiwako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Copyright Bethesda and used without permission<br/>Comments appreciated<br/>Inspired by Skyrim Kink Meme - So... the Black-Briar family is kinda screwed up. Mjoll acknowledges that Hemming, Sibbi, and Ingun are Maven's kids - but Hemming says that Ingun and Sibbi are HIS kids. If you go into the Creation Kit files, it says that Maven is Ingun and Sibbi's grandmother. <img/><br/>Now, that can either mean one of two things: a technical error or incest between Maven and Hemming. And here on the KinkMeme, we go with incest.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Good Son

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright Bethesda and used without permission  
> Comments appreciated  
> Inspired by Skyrim Kink Meme - So... the Black-Briar family is kinda screwed up. Mjoll acknowledges that Hemming, Sibbi, and Ingun are Maven's kids - but Hemming says that Ingun and Sibbi are HIS kids. If you go into the Creation Kit files, it says that Maven is Ingun and Sibbi's grandmother.   
> Now, that can either mean one of two things: a technical error or incest between Maven and Hemming. And here on the KinkMeme, we go with incest.

The numbers on the ledger swam before Maven’s vision. She had been trying to work on the Goldenglow account for about half an hour now, but her headache was making it virtually impossible. She had hoped that a hot bath and chilled bottle of wine would help her relax enough to get work done after tonight’s disastrous dinner, but so far she had only managed to stare blankly at the book. 

Maven had decided that she wanted all of the family to gather together for a nice meal. Hemming, always the good son, had been around and helping with running the house and lodge, but Maven hadn’t seen hide or hair of the other two in months. Sibbi had been detained in the local prison since spring for killing his fiancée’s brother. Meanwhile, Ingun spent all of her time down at the local alchemist’s shop learning potion-making from the old man and his wife. She technically lived with Maven and Hemming in Black-Briar Manor, but rarely bothered to come home except to sleep. 

Dinner should have been a simple affair and a chance for Maven to catch up with her adult children. Instead, it had immediately descended into Ingun and Sibbi bickering the entire time. Sibbi had made a scathing remark about Ingun’s interest in alchemy after his sister had complained about feeling confined by the family business. 

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” he said. “At least you get to go outside if you want. I’m confined to a ten by ten foot cell all day. Instead you just sit in a dark, dank store all day playing at being an alchemist by grinding up some pretty flowers.” 

“Oh, don’t even try to come off as the victim,” Ingun retorted. “You’re lucky Mother intervened or you might have had it much worse.” 

“Please, if Mother hadn’t interfered, no one would have dared to say anything,” Sibbi snorted. 

Hemming had tried to placate his younger siblings by mildly asking, “Ingun, dear, could you pass the butter?” or “Sibbi, could you hand me the rolls?” to no avail. 

“Well, I for one am sick of how everyone expects me to try to screw them over or hold blackmail over them every time I go out,” Ingun whined. “I just want to be a great potion maker.” 

“Learn to embrace your family name,” Sibbi said as he swirled his mead. “The Black-Briar name carries much more weight than any little healing potion ever will.” 

“I have a dream, I should have the right to follow it,” Ingun snapped. 

“Lovely weather we’ve been having,” Hemming interjected, trying to change the subject. 

“Unless your dream involves marrying whoever Mother tells you to and opening up a branch of Black-Briar meadery someday, no one cares what you want,” Sibbi smirked. “Isn’t that right, Mother?” 

“It would be nice if Ingun could be more involved in family activities,” Maven ventured, finally speaking up. 

“Why are you taking his side?” Ingun screeched. 

“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” Maven sighed. “Ingun, dear, you have to admit that running a meadery is much more respectable and profitable than being an alchemist.” 

“I don’t want to run a meadery,” Ingun said, grinding her teeth. 

“I don’t see why not,” Sibbi spoke up. “You could use the bees and their honey to make some sweet tasting potion for your husband so he doesn’t have to choke on all the bile you would be spewing with your whining.” He laughed cruelly. “You could even pretend to be the queen bee. Your ass is big enough for the part.” 

“I hear there’s some really good fresh salmon down at the fishery,” Hemming said, desperately trying to change the subject, but it was too late. 

Ingun had jumped up and screamed, “I HATE ALL OF YOU!” before stomping down to her room in the basement. 

“Feh, finally,” Sibbi gloated as he leaned back in his chair to sip on some mead. “We can have some fucking peace and quiet.” 

“Guards, take my son back to his prison cell,” Maven had quietly growled. “Clearly he still needs to learn some restraint and manners during his punishment.” 

“Oh, Mother, that’s such bullshit!” Sibbi protested. “I haven’t even had a chance to eat my meal.” 

“Then you shouldn’t have spent the whole meal fighting with your sister,” Maven snapped as she stood up. “Consider your punishment extended for two more months for fighting at the dinner table and speaking inappropriately to me.” 

“Aw, hell,” Sibbi whined as his personal guards stepped forward to escort him back to Riften’s prison. As a final act of defiance, Maven’s younger son snagged a roll and stuffed it into his mouth before offering his hands to the guard to place the handcuffs. 

“I’m really sorry about that, Mother,” Hemming offered after Sibbi had been escorted away. “Why don’t we just have a nice meal together?” 

“I find I don’t have an appetite, Hemming,” Maven sighed as she turned to go upstairs. Halfway through the argument, her head had started to pound. All she wanted was a hot bath and some quiet time alone. 

Now she was sitting in her room in her night gown trying to figure out the best way to turn a profit with the Goldenglow estate now that it was hers, but this damnable headache was making that impossible. Her frustration was magnified by her ungrateful children. Despite not having a father for them, she had managed to not only raise them with every luxury, but they were the most respected family in all of Riften, in the entire Rift. 

It was hard being a middle aged woman raising three children on her own, running a successful business, and keeping important political ties with every person of import in Skyrim. Was it too much to expect her children to sit down for a nice meal once in a season? Apparently so, given tonight’s disaster. 

A knock at the door made Maven feel as if someone was slamming her skull with a sledgehammer. 

“Who is it?” Maven snapped. 

“Just me, Mother,” Hemming said meekly as he pushed the door open. “I thought you looked a little stressed at dinner, so I brought up some of the good wine and some cheese and crackers.” Maven could see that the bottle was part of their private stock from Cyrodiil. It could easily sell for more than three times one of their finer bottles of mead. 

“Thank you, dear,” Maven said, pulling her semi-transparent outfit closed. She had pulled on the first gown she had found and it wasn’t exactly appropriate to wear in mixed company. It was a light creamy ivory color that when in front of the right light left nothing to the imagination. It was the sort of outfit intended for very personal, intimate meetings. Not that Maven ever had any of those; in fact she had never worn it before tonight. It had been an impulse purchase when she had been in Solitude because she liked how the material whispered against her skin. 

Instead of leaving after placing the tray on the night stand, Hemming poured a glass of wine and handed it to Maven.  As she drank, enjoying the smooth taste of the wine as it ran down her throat, Hemming moved so he was standing behind her. 

“You shouldn’t let the younger two get to you so,” Hemming murmured as he pushed Maven’s hair to the side to expose her neck. His hands, soft from years of pampered living, started kneading the tight muscles. “You’re much too tense.” 

Maven purred as she relaxed under Hemming’s expert touch. It felt nice to have someone attend to her needs for a change. Normally, Maven had to maintain an image of unattainable to her business associates. Women might be able to hold important positions such as jarl, but that didn’t mean that the typical Nord didn’t think he was better than her because he had a dick between his legs. 

Hemming’s right hand found its way into her hair, rubbing her scalp made her melt with pleasure.  She moaned as she leaned back, encouraging him to continue. A warmth was spreading through her body, pooling between her legs in a sensual rhythm matching her heartbeat. 

Maven had spent her adult life alone. She had been fourteen when a bounty hunter had stopped by the Black-Briar Lodge and asked for a place to spend the night. It had been during the winter and even the Rift had been knee deep with snow. The mead had flowed as the man and her father shared stories of past adventures. Maven had kept their cups, as well as her own, full as they laughed late into the night. 

After her father had stumbled off to bed, Maven had stayed. She had been fascinated by the rough, but handsome, adventurer. Flirting had ensued and not long after, Maven had lost her maidenhead to a man ten years her senior. 

Unfortunately, her father had returned to the sitting room because he had forgotten his pipe. He had flown into a rage when he found his only child bent over a table with mead, blood, and spunk running down her legs. He had killed the man before either Maven or he could react. 

The Black-Briars had been powerful even then, so no charges were pressed. Especially after Maven’s father had explained to the guards how that man had molested his daughter. It would have been an unpleasant affair quickly forgotten if not for the little surprise the man had left that resulted in a bouncing baby boy nine months later. 

Maven had been tempted to name the boy after his father, but she didn’t want to anger her father with the memory. Instead she had named him after his grandfather as a sort of peace offering. Hemming Senior had fallen in love with the baby and had relented on his talk of giving him up for adoption. 

Now that his daughter was “used” and burdened with a child, instead of trying to find a profitable marriage alliance Hemming Senior had pushed Maven to learn the fine art of business and politics. The meadery had been founded before Maven’s birth, but it was still struggling. Nords loved nothing more than mead except tradition and a new upstart business didn’t sit well with that view point. 

By the time Maven was thirty, the meadery was thriving and completely hers. Her father had passed away one night a few years earlier, leaving her and Hemming alone in the world. Without her father around, Maven had turned all of her affection towards her son so he had wanted for nothing. Anything he wanted, he got. And Hemming only got the best. 

“Mother, I need your help,” Hemming said one day when he was fifteen. 

“Anything, my darling,” Maven said, looking up from her sewing. 

“There’s a woman,” he said hesitantly, licking his lips. “I want her, but she won’t be impressed by my money or position.” 

“Foolish boy, money always impresses,” Maven chuckled. She had wondered how much longer it would be before Hemming started to notice girls. They had been noticing him for years to her sorrow. Her little boy was almost a man. 

“Not her,” Hemming promised. He moved so he was kneeling by Maven’s feet. “You’ve always said I deserve the best and she is the best! I don’t want anyone other than her.” 

“Well, tell me her name and I’ll see what I can do,” Maven promised as she returned to her sewing, quietly amused. Surely it wouldn’t be any problem to find the girl’s family and put enough pressure on them with promises of septims and job opportunities that any family in the Rift would bend to her son’s desire. Her heart skipped a beat when Hemming spoke. 

“You,” he whispered, suddenly shy as he looked down. “I want you.” Maven looked up, speechless, and before she could question her son’s request, Hemming’s lips were on hers, insistent and desperate in a way no son should ever be with his mother. 

“Hemming,” Maven had groaned as she pushed him away. Her body was hot with desire. She had only lain with one man ever and it had been quick, painful and disappointing. And that had been before her father had discovered them and killed him at her feet. Now a handsome young man, no – her son – was offering himself to her and she was finding it hard to say no. 

“Please don’t refuse me, Mother,” Hemming begged. He knocked Maven’s sewing out of her lap so he could grasp her hands tightly. “You’ve never refused me my entire life. If you were to do so now, I think I would die.” 

Maven knew she should say “no.” She had to say “no.” She couldn’t possibly be considering any other answer. But this was Hemming, her Hemming. She had never told him “no” in his entire life. But when she opened her mouth, the words that came out were, “Don’t call me ‘Mother’. If we do this, I don’t want you to call me ‘Mother’ during it. Call me Maven instead.” 

She had thought that committing such a taboo sin would feel wrong. That she would feel shame and filthy during the act, but instead she had felt only relief. She felt relief that she was not only desirable, but wanted by such a young, intelligent, and handsome man. It didn’t matter that it was her son entering her. 

Maybe it was because of her one requirement that he had to call her by her given name when they were intimate. She could always put the barriers up again by assuming her role as his parent and then they were mother and son again instead of lovers. It made it less damning somehow. 

“You’re blushing,” Hemming commented, pulling Maven out of her memories. His hand ran along Maven’s shoulders, pulling her nightgown down to reveal her pale skin. “Surely the wine hasn’t gone to your head so quickly?” 

“Just remembering something pleasant,” Maven murmured. 

“You’re beautiful when you blush,” Hemming said, bending so his lips brushed against her earlobe. His voice was thick with lust. “But then again, you’re always beautiful, Mother.” 

“Thank you,” Maven whispered, her blush spreading. 

“Headache feeling better?” 

“Yes, how did you know?” Maven asked. 

“I can tell,” Hemming smirked. He tugged on Maven’s gown until one full breast was exposed. “Do you know what you really need to relax? You need to be fucked.” 

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Maven teased. 

“You know I do,” Hemming answered as he kissed her full on the mouth. Maven moaned as Hemming’s thumb ran over her exposed nipple. “See, Mother?” 

“Maven, call me Maven,” she whispered, both thrilled and frightened by giving him control over her. 

“Well, Maven,” Hemming murmured as his hand trailed down her breast, pausing to play with her nipple until it was perk, “I think  you should move to the bed instead of this uncomfortable chair. And I will get out of this uncomfortable shirt.” 

As Maven settled on the double bed, Hemming removed his cap and shirt. She smiled as he quickly folded them and placed them on the night stand, always meticulously careful with his things. She reveled in the sight of his muscular body, toned after years of learning swordplay from the best teachers money could buy. Despite being thirty-seven years old, there wasn’t an ounce of fat or sagginess on his form. Most people thought he was soft or weak, which was the exact image Hemming wanted. It allowed him to draw more fools into duels they thought they could easily win before dying on the end of his blade. 

“I love you,” Hemming said as he climbed on his bed. He cupped her cheek as he kissed her, pulling her close as he tasted her. “I love you so much, you know that, right? You’re beautiful and perfect—and best of all, you’re mine and mine alone.” 

Each sentence was punctuated with a kiss as Hemming trailed down Maven’s chest until his lips found her nipple. He sucked on it, greedily drawing the pink flesh into his mouth, wanting to taste her and listen to her little cries of pleasure instead of the milk she had given him when he was an infant. 

Hemming roughly pushed up Maven’s gown over her hips so he could push aside her smallclothes before running his digit over her folds. “Gods, you’re so wet,” he chuckled before slipping a finger into her, “and tight.” 

Maven bit her lip as she tried to muffle a cry of pleasure as Hemming roughly thrust his fingers into her. It had been over two years since they had been together, ever since she turned fifty. Maven thought—and truthfully feared a little—that he had finally tired of her and had decided to seek the company of others. There was always that harlot Haelga propositioning any man she met or even that new bounty hunter Mjoll the Lioness, so aloof with her high morals and disdain for Riften’s underbelly. Either woman would appeal to Hemming, Haelga with her sensuality or Mjoll with her unattainability. 

“Touch me,” Hemming demanded. He grabbed Maven’s hand and pressed it against the bulge in his pants. He growled with pleasure as she ran her thumb down his stark outline before he dipped his mouth back to her nipple. Sharp nips indicated his satisfaction as he loudly sucked on her flesh. 

“So demanding,” Maven chuckled as she lazily untied Hemming’s pants so she could slip her hand underneath so she could stroke his cock. If anyone else had taken that tone with her, she would have ripped their head off, possibly even literally, but with Hemming it thrilled her. She would do anything for him because he was her boy and he always got what he wanted. 

Maven ran her hand up and down Hemming’s hard flesh, caressing it gently with her fingertips as she pulled it free of the restricting cloth. His cock was long and thick, lazily curving to the side despite Hemming’s arousal. 

Maven groaned, wondering Hemming would have her do this time. Over the years, they had explored each other completely. She found most of it distasteful and a bit humiliating, but for Hemming she would do anything. She was more bothered by the wonder of where he had discovered such things.  Who had given him the idea of having a woman suck his cock or spanking her as she begged to be fucked? 

The thought of her son doing those things with other women or using her as a sounding board for other conquests made Maven seethe with jealousy. Hemming had never implied that he had ever been with anyone else, but surely that couldn’t be the case. He was the perfect son, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a typical man’s sex drive. Drinking and whoring were considered fine Nordic traditions and part of the reason their business did so well. 

“You act like you’ve never seen it before,” Hemming teased. He sat up enough to nibble on Maven’s ear, his breath hot against her skin. 

“It always feels like it,” Maven admitted. Every time they were together, she marveled that he had chosen her. There was no shortage of available, young, willing, beautiful women especially for someone of Hemming’s rank and wealth. But he was here in her bed and it was mind numbing. 

“I’ve missed you,” Hemming confessed as he stroked her cheek. 

“I’ve been here,” Maven replied, slightly confused by his statement. “There’s been no need for me to travel to Solitude recently.” 

“No, I mean like this. Us. Together. Like we were meant to be,” Hemming clarified, his voice soft, desperate, and full of need. He pulled off Maven’s smallclothes before rolling so he was above her. “Do you have any idea how much it drives me crazy to be so close to you and not be able to touch you like you deserve? Do you have any idea how badly I want to fuck you sometimes?” 

“Hemming, you shouldn’t speak to me that way,” Maven started. 

“Don’t end this by reminding me of the truth,” he begged. He hiked her legs up so they would wrap around his waist. “I need this. You need this. I want to be a good son, but I want you more.” 

“You are a good son,” Maven promised. “You’re my…” 

“Shush,” Hemming said as he brushed her lips with his thumb to quiet her. “Not now. We’ll discuss this later.” 

They wouldn’t. They never did. 

Before Maven could say another word, Hemming was kissing her taking her breath away. Then he pushed into her, making her cry against his lips in pain. It hurt as it always hurt, but it felt so gods damn good too. 

He gave her no time to adjust to his size as he thrust into her hard. Maven buried her face in the crook of Hemming’s neck so she could cry out without alerting anyone else in the house. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tight. 

“I love you,” Hemming whispered. His hand slid between them so he could rub her clit counter to his thrusts. “Say that you love me,” he demanded as his mouth found its way back to her nipple, sucking on it hungrily. 

“I love you,” Maven cried obediently. Gods help her, she meant it too. She cried it again and again as she came. “I love you, oh gods, I love you so much!” 

Hemming’s own cry was muffled as he came. She could feel him pulse with orgasm as she clenched him tightly. He collapsed on her, heavy but not unpleasant. Both of them were covered in sweat and panted roughly as they recovered from their frantic coupling. 

“Do you feel better?” Hemming asked as he curled against the curve of Maven’s arm. He looked up at her, his expression the same as the first time they had made love, uncertain and scared. He looked fifteen again and her son instead of her seducer. 

“Very much,” Maven reassured him. She kissed Hemming on his forehead, a mother’s kiss promising that he was loved and protected. “Will you spend the night with me?” 

“Yes,” he answered simply. Hemming pulled the furs to cover Maven after he adjusted her nightgown to cover her modestly before he tucked his own clothes back into place. Their roles of overly possessive mother and meek son were back as if they had never been discarded. 

“You know that you’re my favorite, right?” Maven asked as she hugged Hemming when he had settled back into the embrace of her arm. 

“I should hope so,” he laughed. “Good night, Mother.” 

“Good night, Hemming,” she whispered as she closed her eyes. 

Maybe tomorrow they would talk about this thing between them. Finally air it out, make changes. She could open a new meadery somewhere in western Skyrim or maybe even Cyrodiil. Talk about finding him a wife. It wasn’t uncommon for Nord men to marry later in life. 

Maven rolled over so her chin rested on the top of Hemming’s head. He snuggled closer, reveling in his mother’s embrace. These were the same lies she told herself every time they coupled. She knew that they were some sense of justification, that nothing would be said until Hemming approached her again. 

She would never turn Hemming away. He was her perfect boy, her good son. He was all hers and no one else’s. Because if he deserved the best, then so did she.


End file.
